


With a Rose, and a Plan

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU from movies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining, SHIELD never fell, Wooing, cameo by Isabelle Hartley, cameo by Melinda May, no Hydra, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 05:25:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11799342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: Clint was convinced that Phil Coulson was the man he was going to marry.  Seriously, for realsies and forever, if Clint could manage it.  Phil was perfect.  Okay, so he was meaner than a territorial goshawk before coffee and there was that time he’d made an Army General cry, but still.  Phil was an adorable dork who loved the ideals of Captain America, read comics with unabashed glee, and tried to feed everyone kale in the middle of a mission.  Clint’s only option was to marry the man, seriously.Now he just had to convince Coulson.(In which Clint attempts to woo Phil Coulson and his friends aren't entirely helpful, but he manages anyway.)





	With a Rose, and a Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladytian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladytian/gifts).



> Happy Belated Birthday, Lady Tian! I hope you enjoy this and that it kind of fit those prompts you gave me! <3
> 
> Also, a large thank you to Ralkana, who looked this over for me and corrected my many mistakes <3 (Of course, any that remain are mine.)

Clint’s first impression of Phil Coulson was a glimpse of the other agent stalking across the foyer of the _Triskelion_.  Phil was wearing one of his many suits and a lanyard, with the most impressive “don’t mess with me” face Clint had ever _seen_.  Up until that point, most of what Clint had heard about Agent Coulson was only rumour and innuendo.  Well, there had also been a disturbing story (or three) from Fury, but Clint _still_ wasn’t sure if Fury had just been messing with him.

(Either way, it boiled down to the fact that Agent Phil Coulson was a scary motherfucker, and Clint really shouldn’t be ogling his ass.)

The second through fifth impressions were that Phil Coulson was _even more_ of a stone-cold _badass_ than rumour suggested.  Also, that there was absolutely no prison/cage/cell on Earth (and possibly in several other realms) that Coulson couldn’t break out of, given enough time and a chance to exercise his sheer spite at having been locked up in the first place.  Several bunkers and one entire warehouse were now little more than piles of rubble because someone had imprisoned Phil, he’d gotten mad, and Clint and Natasha had been, like, _five minutes_ late to rescue him.

(Seriously.   _Five minutes, Phil_.)

Clint’s sixth impression was that, even drugged up in SHIELD Medical, Phil’s eyes were damn pretty.  Like, _really_.  Clint had kind of stuttered into silence the fourth time he’d tried to thank Phil for taking the bullet that saved Clint’s life, because holy shit, how had Clint never realized Phil’s eyes were that blue?  And they crinkled at the corners when Phil smiled, and oh god, Clint was just thankful Phil wouldn’t remember most of this.

By the one-hundred-and-ninth impression -- that apparently humans _could_ survive on coffee and stubbornness alone, who knew? -- Clint was convinced that Phil Coulson was the man he was going to _marry_.  Seriously, for realsies and forever, if Clint could manage it.  Phil was _perfect_.  Okay, so he was meaner than a territorial goshawk before coffee and there was that time he’d made an Army General _cry_ , but still.  Phil was an adorable _dork_ who loved the ideals of Captain America, read comics with unabashed _glee,_ and tried to feed everyone _kale_ in the middle of a mission.  Clint’s only option was to marry the man, seriously.

Now he just had to convince Coulson.

<*>

After two weeks of surveillance and four days of obsessive Googling, Clint came up with a plan.  He was going to _woo_ Phil, just like the dictionary said: ‘to gain the love of a person, with the intention of marriage’.  He was going to court the shit out of Phil and it was going to be _epic_.

Of course that was when he hit his first snag:   _how_?

(Wooing someone was not as easy as it seemed.  Or maybe Phil was just harder to crack than all those people on the internet the stories were about.)

Bringing Phil coffee and donuts wouldn’t work.  Well, they would make Phil smile, which was _always_ a good thing, but Phil probably wouldn’t notice Clint’s romantic intent behind the gifts.  Not when he hadn’t noticed Sandra’s from HR when she’d brought him coffee last Thursday.  Or Mark from R &D bringing him that fancy donut the week before that.  Or, frankly, Agent Choi’s whole sexy badassery that had so very clearly been showing off on that mission to Guatemala.  Phil was kind of oblivious to how attractive he was, or at least when people were hitting on him.  From what Clint had seen, at least, Phil only ever seemed to do the pursuing, and then, only for one-night stands.  It was as endearing as it was annoying, but also kind of nice because it meant Phil was still single and Clint had a chance.

(Plus, there was the small problem that Clint had been bringing Phil food and coffee for over a year now.  Mostly just _because_ , and he needed something outside his usual behaviour if he was going to catch Phil’s attention.)

A gift of comics and trading cards probably wouldn’t work either.  Most of the stuff Phil had confessed to _really_ wanting were pretty expensive.  Clint didn’t mind the price, not for Phil, but he wasn’t sure Phil would accept them.  Particularly at work, because Jasper liked teasing Phil about his childhood love of Captain America too much already.  And breaking into Phil’s apartment to leave gifts without permission was _creepy_ and Clint could attempt his wooing without becoming a stalker, thank you.

Which left Clint with a dilemma.

So he went to Nat.

“You want to what?” Natasha asked, her tone the kind of carefully neutral that usually meant she was swearing in Russian in her head.

“I want to woo Coulson,” Clint said, flopping back onto Nat’s SHIELD-issue bunk.  He could feel his ears burning despite his intentions, and he was trying really hard not to just smother himself with a pillow.

“Okay.”  Natasha leaned over him, her face impassive, except for an eyebrow that was beginning to tilt in a very judgey manner.  “ _Why_?”

Clint squinted up at her.  He’d kind of thought his overflowing emotions had been obvious.  “Umm, because?” he said.

Natasha narrowed her eyes.  “Why, Clint?”

Oh, crap.  She was going to make him _say it_ , wasn’t she?

“Because I want to put a ring on it and have his metaphorical, be-suited babies?” Clint replied.

(Hey, just because she was making him say it didn’t actually mean Clint was going to throw the L-word all over the place.)

Natasha hummed.  “This is going to take some thought,” she said.

Clint wasn’t sure what to make of that.

<*>

In hindsight, he should have expected very bad, terrible, no good things.

<*>

“Okay, so, _no_ ,” Clint said as firmly as he could manage while staring at a gigantic sparkly dildo.  “I’m not giving Coulson that.”

Natasha huffed, like somehow _she_ was the one who had the right to be annoyed in this situation.  Seriously, _Clint_ wasn’t the one who’d dragged her into a sex shop and was pointing out more and more horrifying things that absolutely _did not_ qualify as adequate courting gifts.

“Why not?” Natasha asked.

“Because I’m not doing this to get into his pants, Nat,” Clint shot back.  He sighed at Natasha’s _look_.  “Okay, well, not _only_.”

“No, I know, you have mushy, embarrassing feelings, I get it,” Natasha said, finally relenting enough to drag Clint back _out_ of the shop.  “ _Please_ don’t start telling me about them again.”

“You are _terrible_ at emotions,” Clint told her.  “Why did I think getting your help was a good idea again?”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “I have no idea, either,” she said.  “You’re my best friend, and I love you, but I still don’t see why you can’t just start naked and talk about the rest of it later.”

Because, well, it turned out more than just the rumours of Phil’s badassery had been true.  The man didn’t actually lack in sexual partners at SHIELD, and while Clint mostly didn’t care about Phil’s string of one-night or one-weekend stands -- his small stab of jealousy at Agent Rodriguez's dreamy expression aside -- Clint wanted more than just sex with Phil.  Hence the attempts at wooing, because wooing meant _serious_.

“You know why, Nat,” Clint said, and he totally wasn’t pouting.

Natasha rolled her eyes, but because she was amazing, she also patted him on the shoulder.  “Want me to buy you a coffee and some chocolate cake?” she said.

“ _Please_ ,” Clint said.

“Okay,” Natasha replied.  “That I can definitely do.”

<*>

Since his best friend hadn’t been entirely helpful, Clint decided to kick off Operation: Woo the Fuck out of Coulson with something small.  To test the waters, or whatever.  Make sure Phil wasn’t a crazy person who hated gifts -- not that Phil had ever rejected Clint’s offerings of food and coffee.  It was the principle of the thing.

(Although, rejecting gifts might also be a good way to check if Phil was a skrull or a pod person or something.  Clint might mention that next time they had a crisis meeting.)

And it wasn’t like Clint had a definitive plan yet, either.  He was still formulating all the details.  So, like any good spy, that meant _recon_.  Clint deliberately picked an afternoon when Phil had back to back meetings and bribed Agent Daisy Johnson, Phil’s most recent protégé and PA, to text him when Phil’s last meeting was wrapping up.  He timed everything perfectly, because he was _awesome_ , and left a steaming cup of black tea with a dash of honey and lemon on Phil’s desk.  Clint also made sure to stick a purple post-it noted -- complete with hand drawn heart -- to the top.

(Clint had briefly considered signing his name, but he figured a purple post-it was obvious enough.)

The tea -- and post-it -- totally turned Phil’s grumpy murder face into a small, but tired smile, so Clint deemed the gift a success.  He’d have to gradually step up his game, though, because for gift number two, tea wasn’t going to cut it.

And for that, he’d need help.

<*>

After Natasha’s disastrous opinions about gifts, Clint decided to look elsewhere for advice. Natasha offered alternating support and mocking laughter, but since that sort of defined their entire relationship, Clint just did what he usually did.  (He was grateful for the support and tried to smack her with a pillow every so often.)

Melinda May had glared at Clint for a solid two minutes when he’d asked for help, which was _unnerving_. Thankfully, she’d also scheduled Phil some range time alone _and_ arranged for Phil to be put on the coveted roster to help R &D test their experimental weaponry. Agent Nair in Requisitions helped organize a new ergonomic chair that Phil had been eyeing for months. Then a little bit of hacking combined with the proper application of puppy-dog eyes got chicken enchiladas added to the Wednesday lunch menu in the Mess.

While these gifts all made Phil smile and eased the pinched expression around Phil’s eyes, Clint wasn’t sure they were _romantic_ enough.  Phil didn’t treat Clint any differently after he received them, and the whole point of the wooing campaign was to make Phil think of him as a potential romantic partner.  Maybe Clint wasn’t sending the right message?

He was also running out of people to ask.  Natasha was still attempting to be supportive while also sending Clint email links he was scared to open at work, and Bobbi was on an extended mission to Glasgow and therefore unavailable to ask.  Clint wasn’t brave enough to ask Fury.  Fury would help, but there was a fifty percent chance his suggestions would make Clint look like an idiot.  Like, Fury wouldn’t sabotage his best friend’s chance at getting laid, but Clint was also unlikely to come out looking smooth or sophisticated, either.

Maybe Clint should just ask Jasper and suffer through the inevitable betting pool that resulted.

<*>

Of course, that was when everything changed.

<*>

Clint already had a list of all the impressive mission skills he’d seen Phil pull out when needed, including his destruction of prison cells.  Most of them added up to the reasons Clint both trusted Phil implicitly, and had also crashed so hard into love with Phil that he’d left a crater.  Yet, nowhere -- absolutely _nowhere_ \-- on that list was Phil’s period of teenage delinquency even mentioned.  Or the fact that he could hotwire a car in thirty seconds while wearing tight jeans and a leather jacket.

(Clint felt like maybe he should write someone an angry memo, but he had no idea who to address it to.)

“Barton, get _in_ ,” Phil snapped, and Clint finally jolted into motion.

He slid into the passenger seat of Phil’s stolen getaway car and tried not to gape like an idiot.  Or choke on his own drool like he’d almost done before the shooting had started.  The mission had seemed simple enough in the briefing -- Clint keeping watch through a scope as backup when Phil met with some old contacts.  Absolutely none of that had prepared Clint for the sight of Phil in tight, worn jeans swaggering into the run-down bar like he owned it.  Or the dangerous glint in Phil’s eyes as he downed two tequila shots like they were water.

It was as if someone had finally pulled off the suit and the deadpan mask and revealed the predator underneath.  And while Clint was normally very appreciative of calm, controlled Phil and his sly humour, this new version had Clint itching to jump him _right the fuck now_.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked as he threw the car around a corner with a squeal of tires.

“Fine,” Clint choked out, his hands tightening around his rifle.  “You?”

The grin Phil sent him could only be described as _wolfish_.  “Never better.”

Oh, God.  Maybe Clint _should_ just take Natasha’s advice and abandon the wooing plan so he could have his wicked way with Phil.  Or Phil could have his wicked, wicked way with Clint.  Clint wasn’t going to be picky.

“Hey, Hawkeye,” Phil said.  No one became a SHIELD field agent without being an adrenaline junkie, but Phil’s widening grin betrayed a controlled kind of recklessness that Clint wanted to drown in.

“Yeah?” Clint turned to face him and raised both eyebrows, because he was pretty sure this was where Phil asked him to shoot the assholes still following them.

“Wanna see something fun?” Phil asked.

Or not?

Clint flashed Phil his own reckless grin.  “Bring it, Coulson.”

Phil laughed and then slid the car into a series of fluid turns and skids that probably broke the laws of physics.  They also left the assholes following them in the dust, had Clint’s heart beating somewhere in his throat, and brought them to the exfil point in record time.  Phil was still grinning madly as he sauntered up the quinjet’s ramp, and Clint could only be grateful his cargo pants were loose-fitting.

“Okay, Coulson, I gotta ask,” Clint said, dropping down into the seat next to Phil.  “Where the hell did you learn to drive like that?”

Phil glanced at him and leaned in close.  “Evading the Chicago PD,” he said.

Clint blinked.  “Evading the _police_?”

Phil shrugged one shoulder, his smile turning a little sheepish.  “My juvenile conviction for motor vehicle theft may have been the reason my step-father sent me to military school,” he said.

Clint whistled.  “Well, at least now I know why you never get mad at me for jumping off buildings,” he replied.

“If I ever get mad,” Phil said, with a smirk.  “It’s only because I’m jealous.”

<*>

Clint wasn’t sure what to do with his newfound knowledge of Phil.  It changed everything and didn’t change a thing at the same time.  Well, Clint was more inclined to believe Fury’s stories now.  Operation: Woo Coulson had hit another hurdle, though, because now Clint was doubly unsure about what to give Phil next.  A man with a truly impressive juvenile record -- he and Nat had broken into the court records to read it -- had probably seen it all.  And it was really hard to find a gift that said, “I love and respect you, but would also not be averse to breaking many laws with you later.”

So, Clint took refuge in the SHIELD Garage, because working with his hands always helped him think, and he didn’t want to deal with sharing the range.  Agent Mackenzie just gave Clint a nod when he walked in and pointed him to one of the SUVs.  By the time Clint had figured out what Blake had done to the vehicle on his most recent mission, Isabelle Hartley had joined them with three coffees and a bunch of sandwiches from a nearby deli.  She waved a greeting to Clint before sitting down on a crate and kicking her legs up on another.

Mack appeared out from under the truck he’d been overhauling, wiping his hands on a rag, and accepted one of the coffees.  “So,” he said, turning to Clint.  “Wanna talk about it?”

Clint sighed.  “Promise not to laugh?”

“I make no such promises,” Isabelle said.

Mack sent her a reproachful look.  “No one is going to laugh,” he said.

“Okay, well,” Clint said.  He cleared his throat and sacrificed his dignity.  “I’m trying to woo Coulson, but it’s not going well.”

Isabelle arched both her eyebrows.  “I’ve seen you shirtless, Barton,” she said.  “Just turn up naked in Coulson’s quarters and everything should flow naturally.”

Mack rolled his eyes.  “Courting, not seduction, Izzy,” he said.  “There’s a difference.”  He gazed at Clint, quietly assessing.  “Have you tried the traditional gifts yet?  Flowers, chocolates, an invitation to a candlelit dinner?”

Clint screwed up his face, because he hadn’t, mainly because it felt too clichéd.  “Coulson is the kind of badass that eats other badasses for breakfast,” he said.  “I’m not sure that’s going to work on him.”

Mack snorted.  “Barton, when you do it right, those work on _everyone_.”

Clint blinked, because suddenly Mack’s reputation made a whole lot more sense.  Isabelle grinned knowingly.

Clapping Clint on the shoulder, Mack nodded.  “Just think about it, okay?”

<*>

Clint retreated to his small cubicle, because if anything was going to take his mind off of his stupid plan, it was mountains of paperwork.  The identical cubicles near Clint’s were all empty, but that wasn’t strange.  Someone in HR had decided to assign the area to all of the field-rated specialists instead of giving them offices, but everyone avoided it like the plague.

The quiet helped Clint get through two and a half AARs before the need for coffee became too great.  Rather than chance the nearest breakroom and whatever coffee the junior agents had most likely attempted to burn, Clint grabbed his jacket and decided to head to the coffee shop down the block.  Phil was probably dying for another coffee by now, too.

He passed Jasper on the way.  Or, at least,  Clint presumed it was Jasper.  Clint couldn’t really see behind the three stacked boxes the agent was carrying, but those _were_ Jasper’s favourite polka dot socks.  “Jas?” he said.

“Oh, hey, Barton,” Jasper replied.

“Should I ask?” Clint said, eyeing the boxes.

“No, but these things are heavy, so if you’re just going to ask stupid questions, I’m going to walk away now,” Jasper said, starting to teeter off down the corridor again.

Turning to follow, Clint made a snap decision and reached out to grab the top box just as Jasper got to the elevator.  Jasper’s face was faintly flushed and his glasses askew, but he still raised his eyebrows at Clint.  “Can I help you, Barton?”

“Actually,” Clint said, taking a deep breath.  “I was hoping to get your opinions on chocolates.”

Jasper blinked at him, right before his eyes lit up.  “You want my opinions on chocolates?” he said carefully, as if making sure.

Clint nodded.  “I do,” he said.  “But more importantly, I want your opinions on the best ones to give someone as a romantic-type gift.”

“Barton,” Jasper said as the elevator doors slid closed.  “You have so come to the right man.  I am going to give you _all the opinions_.”

“Thanks, Jas,” Clint replied.

<*>

To Clint’s utter lack of surprise, Jasper had some very firm opinions on chocolates.  He also had very helpful guidance on selecting the right ones to give to someone.  In the end, Clint managed to find one of the little tiny chocolate shops that Jasper swore by and made a selection that he was _sure_ Phil was going to love.  He also picked up a single, red rose, because if he was going to follow Mack’s advice on the classics, he might as well go all out.

It was time to start Phase Two.

Clint started with a small box of Jasper-approved fudge, although this time he used a glitter pen to draw the heart on the purple post-it note.  The fudge itself was also heart-shaped, and Clint had to take a deep breath, because this was it.  The moment where he couldn’t turn back anymore, which was the whole point of the plan, but also vaguely terrifying.  Several mutant butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach, but Clint swallowed them down.  He also made sure he got a good vantage point for Phil’s reaction, which somehow turned out to be in the vents.  And okay, Clint had kind of haunted the vents when he’d first joined SHIELD, but that had been _years_ ago.

Still, when Phil bustled back into his office, Clint froze and pressed his nose to the vent grate.  Phil set his SHIELD-tab and ever-present notebook down on his desk, and reached up to slide off his jacket.  Clint saw immediately when Phil spotted the gift, because his entire body kind of went still, one hand still stretched up towards the knot of his tie.

Phil stared at Clint’s gift for a few seconds before continuing to shrug off his jacket and loosen his tie.  After draping the jacket over the back of his chair, Phil reached out to run his finger over the post-it.  The smile on Phil’s face bloomed slowly, and was one Clint had rarely seen: soft, sweet and faintly shy.

“Thank you, Barton,” Phil said softly.

Clint grinned.   _Awesome_.  Then, as quietly as he could, he wriggled off down the vent to give Phil his privacy.

<*>

A week later, Clint left his second gift of Phase Two: a dark red rose.  He was on his way to a mission in South Africa, but he waited for just long enough to catch Phil’s response.  Phil’s soft smile made another appearance, and his cheeks flushed pink as he gently stroked his fingers across the petals.  It was _adorable_.  Clint’s heart skipped a beat and his stomach gave a flip, which was ridiculous, but also _holy shit,_ Clint’s plan might possibly _be working_.

Then Clint had to run before Sharon Carter descended like an avenging goddess and dragged him to the ‘jet.

<*>

Naturally, because Clint had a schedule he wanted to keep, his mission turned into an ongoing disaster of stray bullets and explosions.  Clint spent most of it on the run with Nat, patching up each other’s wounds and evading the fucking _assassins_ on their trail.  Because _of course_ there were assassins.  Part of Clint was grateful Phil wasn’t with them, because that meant Phil wasn’t in danger.  It also sucked, because Phil would have come up with a diabolical plan that would have saved them in about two minutes.

Despite the danger and the bullets and the running, Clint was _determined_ to follow through with his Wooing Phil schedule.  It probably ranked up there with some of Clint’s worst not-smart decisions, but all he could think of as he tried to sleep, wedged onto the window seat of a crumbling apartment building, was that _faint heart never won fair lady_.  Or fair Phil, in this case.

It was easy enough to steal a phone from one of the bad guys.  Clint’s pickpocketing skills might have been a little rusty, but he still managed to snag the asshole’s credit card, too.  Natasha, being the amazing friend that she was, did her best to help.  Ordering roses to be delivered to Phil (one at a time, and through Jasper as a messenger) was hard when one of the bad guys decided to shoot a fucking _RPG_ at Clint, but he managed.  He even managed to swing a delivery of chocolates, also via Jasper, because Clint wasn’t going to let a stupid FUBAR mission get in the way of romancing the crap out of Phil.

And besides, Clint was hoping the gifts would distract Phil from worrying so much until he got back.

<*>

Phil was nowhere to be seen when Clint finally _did_ get back to SHIELD -- and with only one minor bullet hole in him -- but Jasper jumped on him almost immediately.  For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Clint feared that Phil had told Jasper to tell Clint to leave him alone, but then Jasper fixed him with a glare.

“You’re unbelievable,” Jasper told him.

“Is this about you giving Phil those chocolates on my behalf, because I said I’d pay you back,” Clint replied.

“No, this is about you being one of the most ridiculous human beings on the planet,” Jasper said.

Clint frowned.  “I thought you found my wooing plan romantic?” he said, because Jasper _had_.  There had definitely been words about that while Jasper was giving Clint chocolate opinions.

“No, this is…” Jasper said.  He sighed and threw up his hands.  “You know what, no.  Commander Hill wants to see you ASAP.  I wouldn’t keep her waiting.”

As Jasper stalked off, Clint sighed and spun on his heel.  He was aching all over and just wanted to sleep for thirty-six hours straight, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to ignore a summons like that.  He also had no idea how Maria wanting to see him connected to Phil and chocolates, but his brain wasn’t up to full speed.

When he reached Maria’s office, her terrifying PA and right hand agent, Jimmy Woo -- who was _not_ to be underestimated -- waved Clint through without Clint needing to utter a word.  Taking a deep breath, Clint poked his head around Maria’s door and waved.

“Ah, you wanted to see me?” he said.

Maria was sitting behind her enormous desk, which was covered in photographs, files and tablets holding who knew what.  Clint wondered in which hemisphere shit had exploded this time.

“Come in, Barton,” Maria commanded.  “And shut the door.”

Clint did as he was told, and edged a few steps closer.  “Do I have a new mission?” he asked.

Maria scowled.  “No, what you have is a problem,” she said.  “Natasha told me about your plan.”

“My plan?” Clint echoed, because he wasn’t following.

Glancing up, Maria fixed him with a level stare.  “Yes.  Your plan to woo Coulson.”

For a second, the air kind of froze in Clint’s lungs.  He coughed, eyeing Maria with wide eyes, because _what the hell?_

“I can stop?” he said.

Maria narrowed her eyes.  “Don’t you dare,” she snapped.  “I want you to do the _opposite_ of stop.”

Clint blinked.  “So you’re… helping me?”

“Yes,” Maria replied.  “Apparently, I need a hobby that does not involve weaponry.”

“I… what?” Clint said.

Maria sighed.  “What I want is an efficient workforce, and Phil is scaring half of SHIELD, and _I need that to stop_ ,” she said, and no, that explanation didn’t make all of this any less weird.

“Okay?” Clint offered.

Scowling, Maria pointed at the chair in front of her desk.  “Sit.”

Clint sat.

Maria nodded once.  “This goes no further than this room, but sometimes I may provide a discreet matchmaking service to certain agents in the hope of improving efficiency and morale,” she said.

“Does Fury know about this?” Clint asked.

“No.  And he’s _not going to_ ,” Maria said.  “Not when I finally got him to agree to go out to dinner with Jasper next Friday.”

“I’m officially terrified,” Clint said.  “I just want you to know that.”

Maria raised an eyebrow.  “As long as you can be terrified and follow a plan, I really don’t care,” she said.

“Why do I need to follow a plan?” Clint said, because maybe it was just the exhaustion talking, but the conversation was not making any sense.  At _all_.

Maria sighed and glanced at the ceiling.  “Look, I have three different reports of Agent Coulson, scourge of at least three US Departments and two foreign governments, _sighing dreamily into his coffee_.  I do not have the time or the patience to deal with this,” she snapped.  “Fix him!”

“Fix him?” Clint echoed, because what?

Narrowing her eyes, Maria fixed him with a truly fearsome glare.  “Agent Barton, you are going to ask that man out on a date, tell him you’re head over heels for him, get into his pants, or _all of the above_.  I don’t care about the particulars.  I just want my efficient senior agent back and to not have Agent Blake convinced that Coulson has been replaced by a pod person,” she said.  “I also want you both to be happy, but please, for my sanity, try to keep the evidence of that happiness _outside_ of the office?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said, because really, what other answer was there?

“Thank you,” Maria said with feeling.

Clint took that as his cue to flee.

<*>

“Hey, Daisy,” Clint drawled, a cheerful smile pasted on his face as he peered around the door.

Daisy Johnson, barricaded behind her desk in front of Phil’s office, looked up and narrowed her eyes.  Stepping forward, Clint offered her the coffee bribe he’d brought.

“What do you want, Barton?” Daisy asked, but she accepted the coffee anyway.

Clint perched carefully on the corner of her desk and fiddled with his own coffee cup.  It had been two days since his terrifying conversation with Maria, which meant Maria was probably getting impatient about his lack of progress on the ‘ask Coulson out’ front, but in Clint’s defense, he’d spent most of that time sleeping.

“I was actually hoping you could help me,” he told Daisy.

Daisy rolled her eyes.  “I’m not doing your paperwork.”

“Funny,” Clint said.  “That’s not what I’m asking.”

Sitting back in her chair, Daisy regarded him over her cup.  “Is this about your campaign to court Coulson?” she said.

Clint blinked.  He hadn’t been trying to be subtle, exactly, but that still didn’t mean he wanted all of SHIELD to notice.  “Has Maria or Natasha been talking to you?” he asked, squinting at her.  He waved a hand.  “Nevermind.  The answer is yes, actually.”

“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say so,” Daisy said with a grin.  “What do you need?”

Clint blinked again.

Daisy huffed, but she also leaned forward and lowered her voice.  “Look, ever since you started bringing gifts, Coulson has been smiling more.  And he actually relaxes now, which is a minor miracle,” she said.  “He keeps your roses in his stationery drawer.  I’m pretty sure dating you is going to make him disgustingly happy, so of course I’m going to help you.”

Clint swallowed.  “Thanks, Daisy.”

Grinning, Daisy poked him in the thigh.  “So what do you need?”

“Well,” Clint said.  “How easy do you think it will be to get Coulson in a nice suit and leaving the office on time?  Like, this Friday?”

“To help you stealth date Coulson?” Daisy said.  “I’ll find a way.”

<*>

Clint swallowed heavily, his throat dry.  His heart was beating hard against his ribs and his stomach was in knots, but this was it.  Clint’s moment.  He was dressed in a dark grey, three piece suit with a black shirt and tie, and about thirteen people had already made some sort of gasp or sarcastic comment about seeing Clint in it.  Including Fury, who had raised an eyebrow and offered a wide grin, and Clint still wasn’t sure if he should take that as a wish of good luck or as a warning.  Not that it mattered, because Clint was going through with this.  He even had yet another rose in his hands.

(Mack had said they were romantic, and Clint could use all the help he could get.)

Back at Clint’s apartment, Clint had a home-cooked meal waiting and candles ready to be lit.  He’d toyed with the idea of taking Phil to a fancy restaurant, but they were both spies and being in public was never relaxing, so Clint figured privacy was better.

Everything was ready.

All Clint had to do was knock on Phil’s office door and finally ask.

 _Come on, Barton_.

Taking a deep breath, Clint finally stepped forward.  He was just lucky at this point that no one had seen him hovering near Phil’s office like a coward.  Daisy raised both her eyebrows when she saw him and let out a low whistle.  “You scrub up pretty good, Barton,” she said.

“Thanks,” Clint said, ducking his head as his cheeks heated.

“Go on in, he should just be packing up,” Daisy told him.  She wiggled her eyebrows in a startling manner, and scooped up her jacket and purse.  “Good luck!”

Straightening his shoulders, Clint headed for Phil’s door and knocked before his courage could desert him again.  “Hey, Phil,” he greeted quietly as he pushed open the door.

Phil glanced up from where he was packing up his desk, a file still in his hand, and fell gratifyingly silent.  He blinked, his eyes widening, and his mouth even dropped open a little.  Clint bit his lip, a flush of heat spreading through him.

“Clint, you…” Phil said, and if Clint wasn’t mistaken, his voice was a little rougher than usual.

“Yeah, I know,” Clint said, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck.  “I’m voluntarily wearing a suit.  I promise this isn’t a sign of the apocalypse, no matter what Jasper says.”

“No, that’s…”  Phil cleared his throat.  “I can assure you, that’s _not_ what I was thinking.”

Clint glanced up, a smirk curving his mouth as he raised his eyebrows.  “Oh, yeah?”

Phil hummed, eyeing Clint from his shiny dress shoes all the way up to his almost neatly brushed hair.  “Yeah,” he agreed.  Blinking, he snapped his gaze back to Clint’s and cleared his throat again.  “I mean, you look very nice, Clint.”

So did Phil.  His suit was dark, like the proper G-man he pretended to be at the office, but it was a slightly nicer cut and fabric than usual.  It highlighted the breadth of Phil’s shoulders, and the silvery-blue of his tie brought out his eyes.  Phil had clearly put effort into choosing his clothes and that, more than anything else, gave Clint the courage to offer Phil the rose.

“This is for you,” he said.

“Thank you,” Phil said, smiling that soft smile Clint had gotten so addicted to.  When he reached out to take the rose, his fingers brushed Clint’s and Clint shivered, because he was a total sap.

“So, uh, Phil,” Clint said, ignoring the rioting butterflies in his stomach.  “Would you have dinner with me?”

“Dinner?” Phil said.

Clint stilled, icy fear stabbing through him.  He hadn’t misread the signs, had he?

He blinked when Phil laid a hand over his forearm, and glanced up into Phil’s concerned gaze.  “No, I just meant…” Phil said.  He huffed.  “Clint, right now you could probably ask me anything and I’d say yes.  I’ve never been so wonderfully courted in my whole life.”

Clint sucked in a breath of relief.  “Well, I thought it was probably a bit early in the relationship to propose marriage.”

Then his eyes widened, because _aww mouth, no_.

Phil smiled, and surprisingly, something in his shoulders relaxed.  “Probably,” he agreed.  “How about we start with dinner and go from there?”

“Yeah,” Clint said.  “Okay.”

Phil chuckled, shaking his head.  “You are the sweetest, most ridiculous and amazing man I have ever met,” he said, pulling Clint into a kiss.

Clint gasped and maybe flailed a bit, because _what?_  Phil just stepped forward, keeping his touch gentle where his hand cupped Clint’s face, his other still holding the rose.  Clint couldn’t stop his own hands coming up to grip Phil tightly by the lapels.  If Phil decided to go anywhere else and _stop kissing Clint_ , Clint might _die_.  The kiss was soft and sweet, a faint trace of the rose’s scent hovering around them.  Clint shifted closer, pressing against Phil’s solid strength as Phil deepened the kiss, wanting to lose himself in this perfect moment.

Clint wasn’t sure how long they stood there kissing, but it hadn’t been nearly long enough when Phil pulled back.  “So,” Phil said, his cheeks flushed pink and his eyes dark.  “Where are you taking me?”

Clint struggled to get his brain to work and not just drag Phil in for another kiss or five.  “My place?” he said.  He blinked, blushing at Phil’s arched eyebrow.  “I mean, I cooked?”

Phil smiled.  “That sounds great.”

Clint smiled back.  “Well, then,” he said, sweeping his hand out and bowing like he was in a period drama.  “After you.”

<*>

When Clint finally did propose, after one year, three months and untold amounts of SHIELD craziness, he did that with roses, too.

Phil, naturally, said yes.

 

The End.


End file.
